


a pen-and-ink drawing before nine o'clock

by synchronicities



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dancing, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Foreign Words, Future Fic, Gen, One Shot Collection, anachronistic order, word prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-04 08:19:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5327171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synchronicities/pseuds/synchronicities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SOIGNE (adj. French): Possessing an aura of sophistication in dress, manner, or design, presented with an elegance concerned with the finer details.</p><p>(adrien, and his first winter formal.)</p><p>--<br/>there are lots of words to describe the two of them.</p><p>(snippets of marinette & adrien over the years.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. natsukashii

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So my last fic shockingly did not have much marinette/adrien in it and I ADORE the babs but don't have the time or commitment to really write a full-length story about them, so here's this! I'm taking "untranslatable into the English language" words from foreign languages about relationships and turning them into prompts for the two of them, because I JUST CANNOT EXPRESS MY LOVE FOR THESE TWO IN ENGLISH BYE. 
> 
> Title from Zelda Fitzgerald.
> 
> Future fics do NOT take place in the same (sad) universe as [look around](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5224988) (unless stated).

**NATSUKASHII (懐かしい)** : n., Japanese:  _of some things that bring you joyously back to fond memories_

_Spring passing_

_the lute lies heavier_

_i_ _n my hands_

 

_A paper kite--_

_Exactly where it was_

_in yesterday's sky_

_\-- **Buson**_

* * *

 

“You kept the hat!” Marinette chirps delightedly, flopping down onto his bed. She turns the bowler hat over in her hand, skimming her hands over the feathers, her self-satisfied smirk turning into something that’s very obviously _fond_. She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling, and Adrien’s stomach flips over maybe five times.

He’s so gone for this girl.

“It seemed right,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. “You had every right to be proud of it.”

She puts the hat down on the bed and seats herself on the lounge next to him, curling into his side and stretching her legs over his lap. Automatically, instinctively, he shifts his arm and moves it around her shoulders to accommodate her, allowing her to snuggle into his shoulder even more. “You didn’t have any reason to; you didn’t know then,” she says softly, “About me. About–” She waves a hand vaguely in the air, and he catches it, lacing her fingers together.

“You were my friend,” he says, because it’s true: despite everything, Marinette was a sweet, kind presence at the edge of his consciousness, always ready with a gentle smile and reassuring word to anyone who needed it. “My father wouldn’t have done anything with it anyway.”

“You were allergic to _pigeon feathers_ , you couldn’t have worn it anyway,” she points out, laughing. She extricates her hand from his and uses it to trace his jawline.

“I was being _thoughtful_ ,” he says defensively, but smiling despite himself at her grin. “Just accept my loving, kind gesture, would you?”

Marinette laughs again. “Accepted. Thank you, really,” she hums, leaning back against him. Her hand moves from his jawline to his hair, repeatedly running her soft fingers through his locks. He almost _purrs_ at how relaxing her hands feel, before he notices that she’s watching him, wide blue eyes trained on his face.

“What is it, princess?” he says, grinning cheekily at the resultant flush the nickname still gives her.

Marinette hums against him again, and he feels the vibration through his chest and right down to his heart. “Nothing,” she murmurs, continuing her ministrations through his scalp. “I’m just thinking – it was really stupid of me to _not_ make the connection between you and Chat, huh? I mean, all you did was style your hair like this–” Her fingers twist in his hair, shifting it to the side – “And how many blond boys in all of Paris are allergic to _pigeon feathers_?”

Adrien groans, and she giggles. “Are you never going to let that go? I didn’t ask to be born with a _feather allergy_!” Her laughter gets louder, reverberating through the room, and his heart warms at the sound.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” she says teasingly. Her hands drop from his hair and twist in her lap, and part of him mourns the loss of contact. “It took you so long to figure _me_ out. I didn’t even bother changing my hairstyle. And Chat _met_ Marinette. I should’ve just shown up in a polka dotted gown to the school dance, I’m sure that would’ve solved everything!”

Adrien rolls his eyes good-naturedly, the hand around her shoulders moving through the short, soft hair at the back of her neck, but he almost blushes at the thought. “I was socially awkward. I had the excuse of being homeschooled for eight years to make up for my lack of people skills. _You_ , on the other hand–”

She gasps in mock shock, her hand clutched to her chest. “Were you calling _teenage me_ socially awkward?”

He shifts, turning to look at her. “Like you could string an entire sentence to my face,” he says easily, tapping her on the nose and laughing at her _adorable_ frown.  

“ _Not true_.”

“You _liiiiked_ me,” he singsongs, teasing, like they’re twelve years old.

Marinette punches him lightly in the arm. “I did. Dunno why, you were so annoying.”

“That’s not what you told me,” Adrien points out, raising an eyebrow.

Marinette _flushes_ , and he stops, his hand going up to cup her cheek. Her hand rests on top of his, her eyes fond as he looks at him, and he should probably marry her right now, no other girl is going to know all of him, Adrien, Chat Noir, Mr. Agreste, and still look at him like that, and the thought makes his heart leap in his throat. “We had a lot of wild times, didn’t we?” Marinette continues, oblivious. “Hard to believe it was so long ago.”

“Mm.” He shifts slightly, hums in assent, and she's right -- almost ten years since that last fateful battle in the square, and something in him mourns the freedom of running around on rooftops, the wind in his hair, the gratitude of Paris as its silent savior. “Remember that _akuma_ who trapped people in photographs?”

She looks at him, alarmed. “That was terrifying,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “He almost got you.”

He shrugs, can’t bring himself to look at her because sometimes he just isn’t _used_ to that level of concern being leveled at him. “All in the past, right? He’s doing my upcoming shoot. Had a chance to talk with him. He’s a nice guy.”

Marinette drops her head against his shoulder. “My favorite _akuma_ victim was totally Cat Lady.”

“The one who turned men into cats? _Princess_ , you wound me.”

“ _Kittens_ , Adrien, _kittens_. They were adorable," she insists, leaning up to kiss his collarbone. "But not as cute as you, if it helps."

He chuckles, ceding. “If the lady insists.” He leans back against the sofa, hugging her close. “Do you ever miss it?" he asks, more to himself than to her, but she picks up on it -- she always does, can always read him like an open book. 

"Of  _course_ ," she says firmly, clutching his hand. "Of course I do. But," she adds fiercely, her thumb ghosting over his knuckles, "You don't have to treat it like it's some era past, Adrien. All that business - it's still part of who we are. We were Ladybug and Chat Noir, just like the sun comes up every day and Gabriel Agreste is your father and I love you, okay? That's not going to change." 

His eyes widen, like they did the first time she had said it, but he closes the gap between their mouths quickly. "And I love you," he murmurs against her lips, "That's not going to change, either."

She smiles, brilliant and blinding, snuggling even closer to him, and Adrien thinks he wants to make her smile like that forever. "Flirt," she teases, pulling away and resting her head on his chest.

"You just said you loved me. No takebacks."

Marinette laughs. "But you're right, I guess. Can't hurt to remember. They _were_ good times."

He considers this. "Remember Nathanael?”

“How could I forget?” Marinette asks softly. Her hands have returned to his scalp.

“He’s going to be at a gala my dad’s hosting,” he says, “Since he hit it big with his last painting.”

“I heard. I’m so happy for him.”

“You would,” he says, leaning to plant his lips at her hairline. She smells like she always does, soap and vanilla and sugar. They keep talking about anything and everything, years and years of memories falling through the space between their mouths, and Adrien’s heart chokes at every fond crinkle of Marinette’s eyes, at her low chuckles, at the way her cheeks puff out at an unpleasant memory and the slight alarm in her eyes when she can tell he doesn’t like the topic at hand. They talk about Alix breaking a new record, of Nino’s new label, of Chloe’s new perfume line, and it’s _nice_ – this feeling of being wrapped in someone who smells like warm vanilla and sugar, talking about times past and memories gone, and Marinette’s hands still gently combing his scalp, the knowledge that they've grown up -- and they have -- but not apart. He isn’t sure who falls asleep first, but he likes to think they fell asleep together, his heart still warm with the thoughts running through his head.

The next day, he has the bowler hat framed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hokku at the top is by Buson, translated by Hakuo Shirane.


	2. soigne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SOIGNE (adj. French): Possessing an aura of sophistication in dress, manner, or design, presented with an elegance concerned with the finer details.
> 
> The winter formal.

Adrien goes stag to the winter formal, mostly because he’d already politely turned Chloe down and he didn’t want to incur her wrath or by going with an unsuspecting girl, and he doesn’t think it fair to accept someone’s invitation when his heart’s not in it. Nino, for his part, frowns at him and promises he won’t _totally_ ditch Adrien during the night, and that “You totally have game, dude – at least _dance_ a little.”

He acquiesces, exasperated, because the one girl Adrien would prefer to be dancing with probably doesn’t go to his school and if she were at the dance he wouldn’t know, and he doesn’t even know her _name_. But the thing is, Nino’s dad suddenly has to take the car on a last-minute out-of-town business trip the day of the formal, and that’s how Adrien ends up taking Nino in the Agreste limo, dropping by Alya’s house, and then Marinette’s, because Alya punches him in the arm for even _thinking_ of letting Marinette take a cab from her house to the school in her dress and heels when there’s perfectly enough space in the limo for the four of them.

Adrien thinks she just doesn’t want to be left alone with Nino in the backseat, but her face is flushing and so he doesn’t say anything. So the limo parks outside the bakery and Alya ushers Marinette, bundled up in an adorable pink and gray winter coat, into the backseat. Adrien, from the shotgun seat, turns and waves at her, smiling inwardly at the way she squeaks, flushes, and gently waves back at him.

“Thanks for the ride,” she tells him when they arrive at the school, so softly he has to strain to hear it. Alya and Nino have gone ahead of them, arms linked and bickering about the school décor, and Marinette’s hand is light on his arm, like the snow falling gently on their shoulders, and she moves to pull her hand away. He catches her fingers swiftly, reflexes sharpened by months of crimefighting, and her eyes widen.

“My pleasure,” he says, easily, amiably, because it’s the truth. Her face freezes up for a second before it blossoms into a smile, and despite himself, he can feel the tips of his ears turning pink at her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, bright in the snow.

“Y-you’re very kind,” she stutters, turning swiftly away and walking quite stiltedly towards the entrance, her fists clenching.

 _Huh_ , he thinks, but it’s quickly swept away by the glamour of the winter formal – Marinette and the rest of the committee had been hard at work, he remembers seeing Nathanael’s concept art for the stage and feels a rush of pride at it being immortalized at the back of the gym, and there are white streamers and balloons everywhere, and it’s all so _pretty_ he has to suck in a breath.

He fumbles a little, of course; Nino’s preoccupied with both the night’s music and Alya, and he still hasn’t quite got the hang of socializing with his class, but for the most part it’s fine – a childhood of growing up in the spotlight has made him excellent at small talk, and he flits around with people, hanging at the edge of the dancefloor with a glass of punch in his hand. It’s _nice_ , hanging back and watching the crowd of laughing people – knowing these people are here for him, and they understand, and some of them care for him.  

“Adrien!” Alya calls from somewhere, and suddenly there’s a hand on his wrist pulling him in.

 _“Wait_ , Alya, I–” He barely manages to set his glass down on one of the tables before he’s in the middle of the throng of people, Alya’s eyes gleaming in front of him.

“Dance a little, silly,” she laughs. The song is upbeat, a popular one he recognizes from a commercial. “I know homeschool never had this stuff, so you just have to have double the fun your first time, right?”

Adrien smiles a little at that. “I see your point.”

She pinches him on the cheek. “You got this, buddy,” she says, before she disappears in the crowd, and suddenly Adrien’s alone again, in the middle of a jumping crowd of people, and –

“ _There_ you are!” Kim’s voice booms, and there’s someone yanking on his wrist _again_ , and before he knows it he’s part of a ring of people that’s spinning around in a circle to the beat of the music, and then they change directions, and it’s so fast it leaves him out of breath, and then they do the Macarena, and then awkward freestyle, and it’s _wonderful_ , it’s fast and loud and brilliant and exactly what he expected out of going to school that he almost wants to cry.

And suddenly in front of him is Marinette, divested of her coat, in an elegant dark red dress that flared around her hips and reached her knee, her hair falling in large curls around her face, her face flushed not with cold but with the warmth and happiness of having people around her, her smile nothing short of _dazzling_ , and the sight of her is so lovely that for _one_ second Adrien forgets how to breathe. He can hardly believe that this is the same girl outside the building a few hours ago, shy smile and snowflakes on her thick winter coat. She looks like Old Hollywood, like a fashion catalogue, like –

“Adrien,” she squawks and flails a bit, and for a split second she seems to be debating whether or not to run.

Panic rises in him a little, and he blurts out “I like your dress,” because his social graces seem to have deserted him. “I-And good job with the decorations, it looks lovely,” he adds, clumsy, mentally berating himself.

Marinette doesn't seem to notice, turning nearly as red as her dress, but she manages to stutter out that he looks good tonight, too, and that she’s glad he’s having fun, and well, it's nice of her.

The sight of her in her red dress tickles something at the back of his head, but he thinks nothing of it.

Later, when an akuma invariably targets one of their classmates – sweet Colette, whom Julian had been trying to make jealous by dancing with Jeanne – Ladybug’s smile is bright when she sees him, and he feels the familiar heartbeat, pounding in the otherwise quiet room.

“In a good mood today, my lady?” he says, perched on one of the round tables after their classmates have fleed.

“I’ve had better,” she says, but the grin doesn’t leave her face, and Adrien wonders how he thought anybody else’s smile could ever compare to hers.

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided the last chapter will be based on the Urdu word "goya," and I have a bunch of other word-oneshots planned, but if you have something in mind, feel free to drop by my tumblr @ [ philomelas ](philomelas.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


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